


To obliterate all reserve

by JoCarthage



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Anal Fingering, BDSM, F/M, Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Pon Farr, Submission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-26
Updated: 2015-02-26
Packaged: 2018-03-15 08:06:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3439775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoCarthage/pseuds/JoCarthage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Tom Paris is the subbiest sub there ever was, and B'Elanna decides to top. Follow-up to 3x16, Blood Fever. Full summary of the ep in the notes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To obliterate all reserve

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for an 17 year old ep of television. This starts directly after 3x16, which is the most fanfic episode of Star Trek: Voyager I have ever seen. B'Elanna is the chief engineer of the starship Voyager and gets infected with what is functionally sex pollen (but really it's a transference of pon farr, the Vulcan sex ritual, from a crew mate). Tom Paris is her friend and the chief pilot, who crushes on her but has kept it to himself. Watch the sequence of scenes here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DH77oIGAuwE; they are hot. 
> 
> Being a total badass, B'Elanna fights off the sex pollen for a while, mostly by smacking people around and jumping down cliffs, but eventually starts initiating sex with Tom Paris during a dangerous mission. He refuses, because her judgement is impaired, until finally it's a fuck-or-die situation and he's instructed to have sex with her by a commanding officer (see what I said about fanfic?). Then they're making out and roughhousing, when the Vulcan who initially infected her shows up to fight Tom for her "virtue." B'Elanna (rightly) thinks this is bullshit and fights the Vulcan crewmate herself, winning and thus ending the sex ritual, having "won" herself.
> 
> That all happened, in a TV show that aired in 1997, which I think is amazing. This fic is what I think should have happened afterwards.

Tom Paris lay on his back, soft sleeping clothes loose on his body. He rolled to find a cooler position under his regulation blanket and his strictly not-regulation antique quilt and winced. He had B’Elanna’s bruises across his shoulders, back, and hips. Not to mention the phantom twinge of her bite on his face.

Tom felt a grin cross his face. The lights were off, the door locked. Security set to only to be opened in case of a red alert. It was quiet.

He’d known dating that exothropology major would come in handy. He’d filled in star charts in bed while she’d worked beside him, memorizing courtship rituals of major allied cultures. He may have once handed in an assignment listing the stages of pon farr rather than the arrangements of the Pleiades. That may have landed him days of cleaning duty.

He’d never let himself sign-up for a class. Too afraid he’d be outed for what he wanted, and too busy filling in his other credits. But he knew things and sometimes those things came in handy.

_“I think she enjoyed it, in a Klingon kind of way.”_

_The Captain’s face had been stiff, concerned, but her eyes had widened a bit there. Later, he wondered how deep he was in, if he’d missed a chance to pull back. But still, when the moment came, he followed her into the forrest._

Tom had never minded being marked, whether in combat or the bedroom. Physical proof of experiences worked for him; they just did. But this might be pushing his limits. These bruises were worse than the ones from his last holo-match with B’Elanna. He pressed a hand to his collarbone and pulled away, teeth clenched.

Now he’d stopped poking at it, the pain was settling down. A rush of warmth moved through his body and he remembered when they’d started wresting when it started to feel like sex rather than fucking. He’d thought it might happen like that, if it ever happened for them. They’d be play-fighting, then get in close, they’d touch lips and look at each other, waiting for the other one to chicken out, but both hoping the other would stay game.

He eased his hand down to his side and over his hip. The sleeping shirt fabric was bunched around his waist and he let it stay there, belly touching the blanket. He slid a hand over his bare stomach and down. He didn’t get too close to himself yet, he had a full hour before his usual lights-out time.

He rewrote what had happened in his mind. That they would have kept fighting, kept playing and rolling around together. He would have been tossed on his back, her hips straddling his waist. He would have put his elbows up, ostensibly to block a blow to his face, but then he’d slip his hand behind her neck and pull her down. He wouldn’t go for a kiss, no, not yet. He’d put his lips on her face, repeating the gesture she’d begun, using blunt, light human teeth. He couldn’t leave a mark but he’d let her know he was there.

He could imagine her breath running hot down the collar of his shirt as she play-pushed back in his arms. She’d post up, getting her face away and grinning. She’d dive in for the kiss, eyes wide open.

Then the tone shifted behind his eyes and he followed it, wanting. She’d grab his hair, pulling his head to the side and push her tongue into his mouth, claiming him, making him stay still as she explored every piece of him. He could imagine her licking her way inside and arched up against his pillow at the thought. His legs fell apart, and he moved his hand closer—but not quite there.

He thought about her hands. Rough; scared; prone to longer nails than he’d expect. During maintenance of the shuttlecraft he’d caught her hand between his cupped palms and kept it as she threatened him. He’d commented he hadn’t expected an engineer to keep an indulgence like long nails. She’d elbowed him and yanked her hands back. Eyes on the unpacked console, she’d told him she liked them longer because it made it easier to pry pieces off of conduits. Then she’d muttered they were the same length as her mother’s. He’d changed the subject.

He imagined what it would feel like to have those nails run down his back, across his thighs. 

Tom felt his eyes roll up into the back of his head and he finally wrapped his fingers around himself. In his mind she was straddling him, hands rough on his body, like they’d been on the surface. More possessive this time. He arched up into his own hand at the thought; hard hands and their callouses.

He traced a finger down himself and back behind his balls. He wondered if she’d touch him there. She might want pretty vanilla sex. He stilled at the thought—he liked dynamics too much for that to work in this fantasy. Only skimming the surface of power the way some of his past partners had preferred hadn’t worked for him then, and he doubted it would work now. 

He traced a finger around himself and pressed lightly inside. It had been too too long; he was tighter than he’d felt in years. He rubbed his dick against his forearm as he stroked his fingers backs and forth. He imagined her mouth on his chest as she jerked him with her hand, skin hot on his hip as she settled low between his legs. He imagined her hip pressing into his inner thigh, opening him up, leaving him splayed out in front of her.

He imagined what he would look like. He hoped she wouldn’t want the cabin lights darkened. He  wanted her to see him down below her. Wanted to see the curve of her hip; the underside of her breast; the ripple of her thigh. Maybe she’d pin his hands; maybe she’d lay a light hand over his neck, not pressing, but knowing, eyes careful. He had a bit of soft rope he’d picked up a few M-classes back; he wondered if she might use that on his arms, get him right where she wanted him.

He’d bought it for color contrast for his own pale skin, a winding purple rope. He’d stood in the circular yellow shop with the orange-skinned proprietor and looped the rope around his wrist, imagined the tension he’d feel in his lower-belly as the knots came tight. That uneven feeling of safety; that last gasp of full awareness, testing the reliability of the person he was temporally giving over to. His adult mind refusing to subside without one final safety check. And then that sinking; that rough acquiescence. The feeling like diving into a thicker-than-water pool and realizing he could still breath, when given permission. (He only played with people who gave him permission.) He’d bought the rope quickly, stuffing it in his duffle’s furthest pocket before rejoining Nelix.

Tom lifted his hand and reoriented. He started with 2 fingers, starting at his head and sliding down then rolling his hand up and pulling up himself again. He let himself enjoy a few long, sliding strokes before taking his hand away again. He began to shift the Starfleet blanket to the side to feel to the heavy fibers of the top-quilt. He saved it for special occasions, when he needed the rub of the thickly embroidered that nearly grated on his bare skin. An old lover had lent it to him from a family closet; when the relationship had cooled he’d told him to keep it.

He’d carried it with him to the Academy. He hadn’t slept with it every night, but on nights like this—when his roommate had been gone and his mind quiet—he’d used its roughness to carry him away like a steady-harsh hand. He slid his sleeping shorts down and rubbed his length against the thick embroidery in one, long, luxuriant stroke. The roughness made him twitch and groan, only bringing more of his already-sensitive skin into contact with it. 

He nudged the blanket over his face and smiled into the roughness, letting it rub across his lips. It was B’Elanna’s chapped lips searching for his, roughened from a long night tending the warp-core. 

He flipped through his mind as his fingers got more intent and the quilt kept pressing down. He needed a definitive image to take him over the edge. B’Elanna’s shoulder under his hand; not quite strong enough. Her belly against his when they rolled over; too playful. Her hand, small and hard on his bruised collarbone as she pushed him down to kiss him on the planet. Yes. 

He could feel the gravel grating against his back, could remember pushing up and failing against her strength. He imagined she would move that hand to his clavicle, the easiest big bone to break in the human body. He hoped she’d swipe a thumb across his Adam’s apple, reminding him he wasn’t in control. He kept breathing against the quilt, reveling in restriction of the hot, used air.

He bucked up, feeling wire-tight and teenager-close. Keeping his hand on himself moving steady, he moved his other hand up and pushed hard against the bruises on his collarbone. His body tightened, world paling and drawing centered and pushing out again. His body rolled, feeling rushing from his core to his extremities and back. He moved with the waves, body wild, letting it rush around and under and over and through him. 

He kept his hand tight and moving, squeezing those last few precious drops of pleasure. He felt the drop coming on the horizon but dove into the soft post-feeling. He let his loose-palm drop to his side. He ducked his head out from under the blanket, catching clarity in the suddenly cool air of his room. He sucked a breath and another, and all-too-soon, his pulse slowed to normal, and the steady ache settled like slow blood to the backs of his thighs and shoulders. He hurried himself to sleep before the drop could hit too hard, lulling himself with the imagined feel of hard hands still on him.

—

“Rough night?” B’Elanna was leaning over his blue porridge in the mess hall, a spark in her eye. Tom smiled and tried to remind himself to separate what he experienced in the night from what he enjoyed in the morning. He liked their banter. He liked smiling at her and seeing her smile back in the morning, winning out against her grouchier angels. This was enough.

He liked her being comfortable with him, which he realized in the harsh morning light of the mess hall was not going to be possible if she knew what he wanted from her. So he grimaced:

“Nah.” 

At her concerned look he tried to think of something light to say. Instead he said:  “Well, I have been treasuring some some bruises from our away-mission.”

They both froze. He felt a rush of ice water down his head and to his shoulders. Her face shut down, her voice getting small. _Crap._ He hadn’t meant to guilt-her, just to tease. _Double targ crap._

“Tom, I didn’t mean—“

“It’s nothing,” he said, standing up, tasteless porridge forgotten, “I got worse from Harry playing dodge-ball.”

“Tom—“

But he’d already left the mess hall.

—

Tom was in the middle of cleaning the warp plasma manifolds a week before his shift. He’d waved off an ensign who’d been about to start, not missing his grateful look. He remembered being terrified of this task as a cadet; the stern warnings of his Klingon instructor and the potent holo-visuals of the effects of improperly handled plasma had given him bak-shivers for weeks. But it had been 2 years. He could, and did, manage his cleaning shift without sparing more than half-a-dozen thoughts to dying in a whomp of blue fire. 

He didn’t need to think about the task at hand anymore, so he started to work over what had happened in the mess hall in his mind. He thought he might need to schedule some holo-deck time with a dom program. He’d slipped with B’Elanna, further dinged their friendship when they were both in a weird place. It shouldn’t have happened.

So: solutions. He had only used that program once before, on a rare unrestricted afternoon at the rehab colony. He’d been untouched for months since the accident and so writhingly-miserable he had just needed to not be in control for a moment. He’d found a no-tell motel with a pay-by-the-minute holo-deck and had slipped in a quick program. He’d negotiated, gotten tied up, spanked, told he was bad and dirty and then good and clean, and had left feeling lighter than he had in months. He’d even smiled at his work supervisor, earning him an analysis session.

Tom knew there was at least one copy of that program on the ship—in his private bag. But there were protocols for introducing a new program, particularly one with the safeties off. He suspected, but had never checked, that the public libraries might have something that would serve. He’d overheard two lieutenants talking about one in the bar one night, a well-conceived version crafted by a Betazoid on Deep Space 9. If he couldn’t go all the way with a program obviously designed to fulfill a sexual need, he could surely something close to it. Maybe a wrestling league. Submission in sports were the closest to a mainstream fix he’d found; it had worked before

But if he could use the program he’d packed when Janeway had come to get him, that would be just right. He let himself imagine how he’d work the scene—would he want to step into a dungeon, or get kidnapped, or meet someone in a bar and just click. Would he want to work through all of the negotiations or just play-act that there were no need for any. He was thinking of what he’d wear—maybe just some workout gear—when he felt a hard, small hand on his back. He kept from jumping only by the quick memory of a scolding Klingon voice and the vision of a skin-eating blue plasma cloud. He turned carefully to see B’Elanna.

“You’ve been here for an hour. Don’t you have a break coming up?”

Her voice was professional, but there was something lingering in her touch. He nodded, a lump in his throat, and began to pack up. He'd been over-cleaning anyway. She took a few minutes at the console as he cleaned up, disposing of his hazard gear and dirty tri-corder in the sterilizer. He took a deep breath over the sonic sink, and then another. He had no idea what he wanted to ask her, how he wanted to get her attention, draw her in. He hadn’t gotten to thinking about the repair phase.

He would have to do what he always did best: wing it.

“So,” he said, turning around, “What can I do for you B’Elanna?”  
  
She looked shielded, taking a small step backwards into the console.  
  
She took a second, realizing how defensive she looked. “Maybe I wanted to talk about what happened on the planet. You ran away in the mess hall before I could ask.”

Tom ducked his head and let his eyes drift closed. That was a mistake; He could see in the grey-purple shade behind his eyelids her look of possession, of triumph and owning from when she rolled him over. He _wanted_ that in a bad way. He didn’t know what to say to get that again, or to see if she wanted it with him again. He let his body collapse in, eyes still closed. His head dipped lower and then he opened his eyes, looking up under his eyelashes.

“What do you want to know, Belanna?”

She stepped back, then squared her shoulders and strode forward stopping just before entering touching distance. “Are you ok?” Her hand fisted the pant-leg of her uniform and then smoothed it again. He closed his eyes, hoping she didn’t notice.

“I’m fine. Are you ok?”  
  
She shook her head, not like she was saying she was not-ok, but like she was shaking the question away, like a targ settling its fur.

“You can’t be ‘ok’ Tom. I tried to rape you.”

Tom’s eyes flew open, shields down. “What?”

Belanna’s hands started to wash each other as her face twisted. 

“I know you had feelings for me and I took advantage of them. I let myself take advantage of them.”  
  
“You were in the middle of the pon farr, or whatever it means for you to be the subject of pon farr.” Tom said, voice steady, disbelief only lifting the end of his phrases slightly.

“That’s no excuse. I should have better control…”

“I’m not going to say it was the perfect way, but if there was any victimization, you were a victim too. You didn’t ask to have your libido put into overdrive.”

She looked ready to argue, but he held up his hand, body still caved in on itself, eyes still looking through his lashes. “The more important thing is: I don’t agree. I don’t see myself as your victim. I knew what you were doing, told you to stop, and you stopped. Then I asked you if you wanted to go, and we went.”

He shook his head, mouth quirking to a side. “Well, almost went.” He moved a foot forward, getting closer to being in her space. Too late to stop now, full power to thrusters.

“I didn’t mind. I didn’t want that to be the way we started, but once it was a life-or-death issue, I thought we could get past that. If you decided you wanted to, afterwards.” He shook his head again, trying to knock the words into order. “I’m not saying I would take what I could get, but I thought we were good enough as friends that if something did happen under those circumstances we could move past it if we both decided we wanted to.”

That may have made no sense. He looked up to see if she was following, but her shields were are 100%, her face frozen, eyes fixed on his, slightly un-focused. He was never making it out of this conversation intact.

“Fuck, Belanna, I need to know if you have any interest in this, in me,” he gestured up and down himself. There was a horrible beat and then—

She stumbled forward, hand pressing against his chest. He let the force of her push him flush against the console, thighs parting to let her between. She ducked her head and then took a breath through clenched teeth, speaking to the shoulder of his uniform. He could make out her muffled voice:

“It’s not easy for me to want things, Tom. There are things I always want, will always want, that I can never have. That I cannot allow myself to have. And that no one in his right mind would gvie me.” Her voice wavered like she was watching a holo-projection of those things on the backs of her closed eye-lids.

He took a breath so her hand stayed still on his chest, filling out the backs of his lungs and letting the sides open fully. He tried to keep still, but he could see the words forming, and knew they were the wrong ones. But he’d been too far down this road not to get something of what he needed, so he asked, lower, huskier than he intended:

“Like what?”  
  
He expected her to startle, to pull back, to fly away. To react with outrage or offended privacy. But she just hung her head a millimeter lower and said. “You don’t want to know.”

He drifted a hand up, putting it not on the back of her neck, but on the side, still and warm against her hot flesh.

“Try me.”

Maybe it was his years of teasing; maybe it was his reputation for enjoying sex; maybe it was that he was her friend; or maybe it was being 600,000 light years from home and so, so lonely.

“I like—no. I can’t.”

She did start to pull away at this, his hand sliding along the tendons in her neck, losing centimeter by centimeter of her skin. He couldn’t just—

“I’ll go first.”

She stopped and looked up at him through her hair. He pulled his hands back, palms up. The only truly intergalactic sign for _harmless human here_.

“I like getting tied up.” He said. He said it levelly, without shyness or heat. He’d lived too many cycles to stumble over what he was, though he rarely talked about it.

She stared at him and said: “I like marking my partners.” Like it was a dare, a challenge to look away. He successfully suppressed a shiver of anticipation, keeping himself steady, voice almost clinical.

“I like being told I’m good at my job.”

She snorted, and then thought better of it. She flashed him something of an apologetic look; looks like they weren’t going to be mocking each other in this bubble of honesty.

“I like telling people they’re bad at their jobs.”

He paused, and then decided to break the rhythm with a qualifying question: “I meant in the bedroom.”

“Me too.”

“I like a bit of pain.”

He cocked her head: “Where?” There it was, that husky tone she’d pulled down at the planet; that promise of heat and melting fire.

“The same places I like to feel good.”

“Hmm,” she said, and he could feel her gaze sweeping over him. He felt warm, not only in his groin and chest and cheeks, but in the tops of his thighs, in the gap between his uniform and the small of his back, in his heels and the backs of his arms. He felt like he was being embraced, being judged, all at once.

“Have you every—“

He nodded; there wasn’t much choice in the matter and answering truthfully had seemed to have a solid impact so far. He hoped it wasn’t too much for her.

“I have. I had a, relationships. There are holo-programs for the in-between times.”

“Is this something you’re doing with anyone on-board?” she asked, voice level.

“No, it’s not like that. I can go, a long time. This part of me, this thing? It’s not all I need so it’s not all I look for. There just aren’t a lot of people who are into the whole package. That I’m me, pilot extroadinaire, and I like being out of control within agreed limits, that I like being safe and trusted and entrusted to be safe. It’s not all I am, just like not all I am is a water-drinker, but without water I’m—unhappy.”

That was too far, too much talking, but he felt her grip on his shoulder. Her hands were close to his skin, close to his neck, moving up and turning his face—

She looked like she was going to say something, and then her hand moved. A fingertip, as gentle as it could be given the rough use she put it to, slid down the stubble of the side of his jaw to the point of his chin, and back, up his cheek. She pressed in, right where the Doctor had healed her bite.

“I’m, I’m sorry I did that to you Tom.”

He clenched his teeth. “I thought we already—“

“No, Tom, I need you to hear me. I was, I was lout of control, out of my mind—“

“B’Elanna, I know, I was there, remember?” He reached up, grabbed her wrist and pulled her hand away from his face.

“I said we wouldn’t touch each other _yet_ , not while you were impaired. I said that as a friend and I would say and do everything the same way again. But I’m sober. You’re sober. Right?”

She nodded, eyes a little wide, “Alright. Two sober, adult officers of the Federation. This is a different moment than that moment. We know each other better than nearly anyone else on this ship. Tomorrow morning, I’ll still be your friend.”

  
B’Elanna’s hands gripped into fists, body within Tom’s personal space. Grip, loose, grip, loose. She gripped, held, and took a deep breath.

“And what might happen tonight?” she said, voice quiet, smooth, belying the tension that rode through her entire body, “It sounded like you wanted me; is that still true?”

“Yes.” Tom said simply. “And that will be true in 5 minutes too. And you?”  
  
He reached out for her wrist, but when she twitched away he let his hand fall to his side. He tried to move back, but she was still tight against him, pinning him to the console. He tried not to enjoy it too much.

“If where you are is ‘I don’t know’ then we’ll stick with that. It doesn’t have to be a thing.” It hurt to say that; he wanted to touch her, to be touched by her, more than anything he could think of at the moment. But to not have the option of her smiling at him over Nelix’s terrible breakfasts? That was something he was not going to chance.

She took a deep, deep breath and said: “Fine. I can say it,” another breath, then quiet, low “I want you. I want you as a friend, I want you as someone to explore this, thing with, and I want you as a lover.”

Tom started to nod, but once the breach was started it just kept flowing. “And I don’t know about the pushing around, the having and giving control. I have always liked being in charge, but I thought that was my Klingon heritage, such as it is. I didn’t think for a long time it was appropriate or something I cold share with a human mate. But there might be something in what you’re saying, some way we could combine what we both need into the same experience.”

“Or an approximation of it. Not everyone always gets exactly what they were hoping for in every scene.”

“‘Scene’” she said, eyes rolling, “Is there a dictionary I should get, if we do this thing?”  
  
Tom felt the last of the conflicting tension subside around their feet. “Maybe.” he said as she batted his hand away. “Maybe there are vocabulary sheets and term cards and everything is formal and strict. We could do sexy contract negotiation like in the earth classics. Or—”

He slid his hand behind her back, and she swayed easily in towards him.  


“I have some time on the holo-deck saved up—“

Sh froze: “Tom, right now? I have a shift in—“

“Not for that. I was thinking we could do something like the mountains of madness from the _Princess Bride_ , something to get our blood going.”  
  
“The Princess _What?_ ” She said as they walked towards the bay doors, shoulders bumping

“You haven’t played through this? It’s a late 20th century earth traditional story…”

—

Tom and B’Elanna lay on their bellies, observing the crowd in the courtyard below. She was in the role of Fezzik and he in that of Inigo Montoya. Their Westley was characteristically limp but clever. The crowd milled as he monologued, but when Tom glanced over to B’Elanna with a squinting eye, she caught his hand and pulled it to her mouth.

“Computer: freeze program.” she said, voice carrying clear even as her lips touched his skin.

“I wanted to talk about what we might do later, now.” She faded her hand down his wrist to grab his elbow, helping him stand. They descended the stairs until they took a switchback and she sat down again. The air was dusky and dusty with faux-medieval weather, and uncomfortably warm. But here in the shade of the great stone parapets, it was cool and as quiet as anyplace on a starship.

The entire walk down, B’Elanna had not released his wrist. She nudged him as they sat down until they were braced, shoulder-to-shoulder against the hand-hewn stone of the wall.

She released his wrist, only to seize his knee and grip tightly.

“So,” she said.

“So.” he replied.

“If you were going to have sex tonight, what would that look like for you?” B’Elanna asked, eyes unfocused on the grey wall opposite them.

“Preferably you would be there,” Tom said, lolling his head against the wall to grin at her. She chuffed and bopped his knee. “I’d like to start with something we both know we’d enjoy, to see if we’re compatible. Touching each other sounds like a good place to start.”

She nodded, but it was jerky, like a puppet half of whose lines were cut. “There’s a number of ways to for me to get what I need to get there. You could tell me I’m doing a good job, you could tell me what you wanted. I can take care of a lot of it in my head, if I know you are fine with whatever I put in there.”

“Are you imagining someone else, in this vision of yours?”  


“No, that’s not it. I wouldn’t do that, not to anyone, and least of all to a friend. But there are words and phrases that work for me; always have. And if we’re having fun, and the moment is right, and I know you’re ok with it, I’ll let myself think about those words and it will be much easier for me to finish.”

“What about you: what would having sex tonight look like to you?”  


She hung her head, like it was too heavy or the pavers were really fascinating. “I would be in charge,” she glanced hard at him but his face was neutral, even as he felt a thrum of excitement flow through his arms.

“I would hold you and feel your muscles, like,” her voice cracked a bit, “like when we were on the planet.” She took a deep breath, movement shifting her body upright against the grey wall. “I’ve always like wrestling before sex, not anything too formal, just some rough-housing. Something to get the blood flowing, something…” her tone shifted, getting defensive, “you know, this is sounding really Klingon, but I don’t have sex like a Klingon. There, the fighting is about dominance, performance, submission. Here,” she pressed a hand to her chest, “it’s about play. About establishing comfort, it’s not,” she rolled her eyes back into her head, with all the sarcasm she could spit: “it’s not _performative_.”

Tom nodded, blurting in: “You know I’m not interested in you because of your Klingon side, or because of some fetish about Klingon sexual customs,” her shoulders subsided from around her ears at that; he hadn’t realized it that that had been much of a concern.

She looked at him long and hard. She kept an edge of a glare to her stare but it eased as he kept a close contact with her.

“I’ve had lovers who…who I was was less important to them than what I was; what they thought I might be. And it sucks because there are things I like because I’m me that some Klingons like because they are part of their cultural training. Not—“ her face twitched and Tom had to hide his laugh at the embarrassed face she made, “not face biting. Other things, like getting sweaty, competing, showing off. That stuff works for me.”

“It’s not the same and it’s not as bad, but I’ve had lovers who thought they could do things to me, expect things of me, because they thought they could summarize who I am with a prefix. And I’m not, not just a sub, not just a pilot, not just a Starfleet officer, not just an American or a Admiral’s son…”

She smiled: “You’re you, which is all of those things,”

“And so much more.” he wiggled his eye-brows and she raised her hand to restrain them, laughing as they fought back.

They dissolved into laughter and then quieted. Into the silence of the frozen holo-deck, B’Elanna said: “Just to be clear: I’d like to have sex with you; I’d like to try something physical, see if it works for us. I think we’ve been friends long enough, if it turns awkward and embarrassing, we’ll avoid each other in the corridors for a few weeks and then be back to normal.”

“Like that time I beat you at Botchy ball.”

“You absolutely did not beat me at botchy-ball.”

Pausing at the lintel, she called out before the doors parted: “Get cleaned up and meet me in your quarters in an hour. I’ll bring some…supplies.”

Tom shivered and started towards the sonic showers.

—

B’Elanna had never used her replicator rations for anything other than food, but she found herself scrolling through the options for lube; her biology limited her use of human concoctions. She didn’t want to be explaining this night to the Doctor because of a yeast infection, nor did she have any interest in walking funny. She paused for a moment. They hadn’t discussed who was getting penetrated or if that was even on the table. She went on with the replicator order and started to think through if any of her personal toys might adapt well to a partner.

—

Tom paced in his quarters. He’d finished cleaning up in record time and had nearly sprinted here, terrified by the vague feeling that if he wasn’t here and B’Elanna came by early he would miss the only chance he ever would have.

Now he was here and crawling out of his skin. What if she didn’t like the way he kept his room; what if she regretted the offer; what if he imagined the entire experience in a fit of incredibly long-lasting post-orgasmic fantasy. What if she wanted to hit him; what if she wanted him inside her only and had no interest in getting inside him.

His mind spun in circles and he paced them straight. Around the 45th circuit of the room he felt a rush of calm and slowed his pace. He hadn’t hallucinated; she had been there. They’d shared a bit, gotten a feeling they might be on the same wave-length, and agreed to try more.

He collapsed in a chair. When she came through the door, should he stand up? Should he kneel? No, that would be too much. Should he have some food for her? What if she didn’t like to eat before sex? What if she didn’t plan on negotiating before-hand? What if she found negotiation too sterile and uncomfortable? What if she freaked out that they hadn't negotiated?

He forced his shoulders down from his ears, forced himself to breath until he could feel his stomach pushing against the waist-band of his uniform, then let the air whoosh back out again. He would figure it out; she was his friend; they would make it work.

A small, feathered voice in the back of his head whispered they might not, but his older self said: fine. It would be fine. They would be fine even if they failed as lovers. Tom finally settled back, head tipped against the back of the chair. He let himself drift, adrenaline draining, thinking about her hands tight on his wrists, her red smile, the smell of her hair and feel of her callouses.

—

Tom started awake neck stiff and twinging from having fallen asleep resting back against the chair. The door alarm shrilled again and he said, without thinking, “Who is it?”  
  
The computer answered: “B’Elanna Torres.”

With that, a rush a memory swept over him, and his heart was slamming around his entire chest. He wiped the back of his hand against his mouth, squeezed his eyes shut once, twice, three times, and then called out: “Come in!”

The door slid open and there she was, hands on her hips.

She strode inside and as the doors shut said: “Reconsidering?”  
  
He thought about telling her he’d drifted off, but the long explanation about his usual reaction to coming down from an adrenaline high seemed like it would take more time than simple saying: “Absolutely not.”

He opened his arms and she walked closer, eyes close on his. He kept still, letting her set the pace. She came in close and then let herself wrap up in his arms. He always forgot how close they were in height until moments like this, when she needed to bend her head down slightly to rest her forehead against him. He marveled in the feeling  of her entire body against his. He said, quietly:

“We could just do this all night.”

She huffed: “We absolutely could not.”

He grinned and felt warmth from his smile begin to spool down his entire body. He was so close, a simple tip of his hips brought them into closer and more intimate contact. She moved in and held closer, letting his entire body enjoy her warmth. She felt warmer than he’d remembered she did. She released her hands from behind his shoulder and crossed them behind his back, drawing her hands together and squeezing tight, tighter, closer to a wrestling-hold than a traditional hug. The enclosed reached a peak and he just loosened in her arms.

He tried to follow his rationale for it. He tried to track his muscles as they loosened, interrogate them as to why they were not resisting. He always tried to find the switch that flipped for him, but it hid in the grey areas where his mind labeled her as “safe”, her arms as “protection” and never alerted him to a threat. He never could and wasn’t able to this time. It would be terrifying if it wasn’t so nice, and frankly might still become scary if she didn’t realize the level of trust, the amount of damage she could do to him.

Her voice was low, soft. Perfect. “That does work for you, doesn’t it.” He nodded. She maneuvered them over to the couch and sat. He thought of pulling himself up into a level of adult responsibility, but she had this look, like she might be willing to drive from here. He sat a bit away from her, then pivoted and lay back, head falling neatly on her lap.

She chuffed in amusement but let her hands drift to his honey-hair, moving it away from his forehead, fingers just barely touching his scalp.

“So, what would you like to do?” she asked, and Tom took a moment to get himself to words.

“I’d like to touch you,” the words came as if from a long distance, but he had no sense if he was speaking slowly. 

B’Elanna leaned down, but the angle was too awkward to touch Tom’s face to hers, so she settled on hitching her leg up and to the side under his shoulder.

She leaned close, not quiet bending in half, but bending enough, and said: “I want to make sure we’re on the same page.”

Tom breathed out through his teeth and at the end of it, at the tail of oxygen in his breast, he pulled himself up, eyes clear. 

“Ok,” he said.

B’Elanna started: “I”m going to say what my ideal, no that’s not the right way to say it. I’m going to say the most the furthest I’m prepared to go towards tonight. Then you tell me if that is extreme for you, or something else entirely.” Tom nodded, thinking of bruises on his shoulders and the sour taste in his mouth of having his down fantasies rejected by someone he trusted.

“I’d like to take you by the hand and walk you into the bedroom. I’d like to lay you back on the bed. Tune the lights low. Touch you everywhere, uniform be damned.”

She stroked a hand back over his forehead, moving his hair backwards.

“I’ll stay clothed,” she said, and Tom felt something inside himself contract in the pit of his stomach, “I’m just going to say this here: I’d like to be inside of you. I brought some toys that will allow that, that will feel so good. Or, they feel good for me and they made for a human body, so I bet they’ll work for you.”

Tom’s breath was starting to come fast and hard this time, feeling rough in his throat.

“Think of this: I’m inside of you,” her voice is dark, “I’m moving, a bit by a bit as you get comfortable to my shape. Then, when you can manage it and not a moment before, I start to push. If you like it like that, I can make it feel like I’m pushing you apart. I can make you feel so connected you won’t ever want to come. But you will.”

Tom nodded. Better than he’d expected; he did’t have to bring it up, saving himself having to pull out of the warm pool of safety he was in. While he hadn’t had the chance to have someone inside him when he was with a woman, he knew he liked the sensation enough it was a regular part of his solo-routine.

“Is there anything else you want me to do with you? Anything I said you don’t want?”  
  
Tom shook his head in one, long, emphatic movement. B’Elanna’s eyes glinted. 

“That is beyond perfect,” she said, and leaned towards her to take his hand in hers.

—

B’Elanna saw as Tom nearly tripped on his own feet in their stumbling way to the bedroom. B'Elanna guided them but Tom was lost in anticipation. As soon as they passed the threshold of the bedroom she dimmed the lights. As his eyes adjusted, Tom found his bed by pure memory and luck. He stood with it behind him, and waited to see what she would do. She ran her eyes from his face down his chest and belly, his legs, his feet, and back up, a wicked gleam in her eye. She stepped close enough to touch but not to kiss, and put her small hand in the middle of his chest. 

She slid them up and pushed her fingers into Tom’s hair, guiding him as he swayed willingly back. She smiled at his pliancy and pushed a bit further, helping him fall backwards onto the bed. She followed, hand never too tight, enough to cause tension but not pain. She crawled up his body, letting him watch her, follow her quick smile before he turned his face to the side to let her see his healed-cheek. She leaned in to press a strong kiss, but didn’t bite down.

B’Ellanna started to talk as she worked her way up his body.

“I’m going to pine your hands now,” she said, voice dark. She saw him swallow and then his lips set. He lifted his arms, tracing his way up her arms, then arcing them back behind his head and onto his pillow, wrists bent at a right-angle against the headboard. 

She moved his hands a bit further apart until they were straight at the wrist and then pushed down with her palms. She moved to sit over his stomach and could feel his erection against her uniform. She sat delicately, not wanting to over-pressure him, push him too far too fast. They had until morning watch and she intended to make use of that time.

Her face was bare inches apart from his and his face was still to the side. Using the side of her face, she levered him into looking at her.

“I’m going to kiss you now,” and at his near-imperceptible nod she pressed in with closed lips. He was soft under her mouth, lips moving and broader than she expected. She moved against them, and moved her hips slightly at the same time. He gasped and she took advantage, slipping her tongue in and tasting him. Clean, warm, wet. Excited.

She pushed against his tongue at the same time as grinding down another click further and he responded back, kissing back, diving into her mouth, exploring and being explored all at the same time. In the middle of the kiss he started pressing against her hands. Her first reaction was to let go, but she felt that shake of his head and pressed harder on instinct. She felt him smiled against her lips and then get back to business.

He tried to twist out of her grip; she kept firm and tightened her fingers. He tried to get his wrists into the same place to lever off each other; she kept them apart, letting out a grunt of effort. Kissing him stronger, she pushed harder and deeper into his mouth and space, making sure he knew she was in control.

He subsided and she felt a pang at the sweetness of it, the way he let his fingers relax, then his hands, then his wrists, then arms. Finally his body relaxed and his kisses stayed present, but were less intense. 

She slid her hands back down his arms and laid her palms on his biceps. She let him feel the strength and then she pressed down. He curled his hands into fists and she felt his muscles bulge, but she kept hold. Testing her was part of the game. He had to know she was safe to let go around, that she could hold him down, she could catch him while he fell.

He tried jerking up against her, but she just leaned forward, taking more of her weight and putting it onto the thinnest thread the connection him: a body.

“Now, Tom,” she said, face closer to his than it had been since the plasma manifold cleaning, “I have to let go of your arms and trust you’ll keep yourself still. It’s a punishment you are going to help me mete out. You need to tell me out loud if there is anything  you need to do for the next few hours.”

He shivered and gave the smallest nod. With that, she leaned in to him and kissed is closed lips. Not enough to move them, but to pass a breath of attention through.

“Tom,” she said, voice low, “Tom, I’m going to get some of my toys. You need to stay here. If you move, I’ll delay touching you for 2 minutes. If you move in a big way, 5 minutes. Do you understand me?” He nodded, eyes watching carefully.

She stepped into the other room and returned with her carry-bag. She stepped up beside the bed and lifted the bag where he could see it. He was looking with strained eyes, face still where she’d left it when she’d pulled away from the last kiss. He was trying to be _good_. She felt that obedience in her gut, but kept it off her face.

“You can move your head. Your hands need to stay where they are.” He did, but not immediately how she would have expected. It was slow, languorous. His face was—relaxed was too neutral a term. It wasn’t blissed out. It was softer than that. Mellow; loose.

“I’m going to show you what I have in the bag. You tell me green, yellow, red for each of the pieces after I tell you what I want to use them for. You can say more, but all I need are the colors.” He nodded, and she hoped her appreciated her research after their prior conversation.

First was a small vibrator with a flared end. It had a number of uses, but the most obvious was one he was familiar with. It was the most dramatic thing in the bag, a shiny, black piece she’d picked up during her brief Academy days in a small shop in San Francisco called “Adam and Eve and Steve.”

Holding that in one hand in clear-sight, she lifted a vial of lube. Simple stuff, it replicated in a wide variety of colors, tastes, and textures, but she preferred the classics. A bit of warming, enough thickness not to ruin the sheets at the beginning, and clear.

“If you say yes, I will use this,” lifting the tube, “to put this,” holding the vibrator by the base, “into you. I’ll start with my fingers, go slow. I don’t need you to clean-up, I have gloves, but you can if you want to. I’ll kiss you anywhere but your cock while I’m working you open, saving that for the last.”

She took a breath. Something about his face was quizzical. “I like to use my hands on and in, I like to feel some part of you not many people have. I like getting to control when and how you get there.”

He nodded and she smiled.

“Let’s get you naked.” He twitched for a moment as if he was going to bring his hands down but then kept them still.

“Good, keep them there.” 

She knelt at the end of the bed and started to work on his shoes. She put one hand on his ankled and pressed down, holding him firm. She didn’t know if he’d ever had full restraints, and she’d never used them, but he seems to like the touch. She slipped off his shoe and sock, then rang a finger along the bottom of his foot He writhed in ticklishness but settled as she worked her way to the ball of his foot, pressing a finger between the muscle groups as he let his feet fall soft in her hands. She kept working his foot, even as she could see him softening in his uniform. That was alright; they had all night.

She got the other shoe and sock off, repeating the motions. He was starting to move again at the feeling of his feet in her hands. He looked at her like he would take anything she could give. He was hers, for tonight at least, and as long as he wanted.

“Keeping your hands where they are, turn over.”

He moved for a second, his confusion clear. Then he tucked a foot under his other leg, and shifted his hips up. He turned himself using his feet as leverage and steeled back down on his stomach, hands having switched orientations but not change anything else. Her body rippled with the swiveling it took his hips to get around, but she kept a hold of herself.

It was easier to be gentle when he couldn’t see her. She felt her face relax as she swept her hands across his broad shoulders and down to his narrow hips. She found the small hook there, and inside it, letting the fabric move apart as it came off his body. He wasn’t wearing a shirt under the uniform, which she appreciated. He was wearing briefs, held tight to his body.

“You can turn back over now.” She felt her face cool as he turned, but that was ok. Sh had all the warmth she needed in her hands.

Tom’s breath caught at the order and hitched up faster. He moved himself around and lay back, arms still stretched above his head. Her fingers were soft on his thighs, soft but clear on their intent. He squirmed a bit, but held still when she pressed down on his hips.

She moved his knees to kneel, giving herself the space she needed to touch. She traced a dry finger up the crease of his thigh, not touching his tightening cock, barely letting the air moved by her hand touch it. She smiled at his lack of reaction, his attempt to be good, to hold off moving himself against her. The smile fixed itself deep into her cheeks when she saw him growing slowly as she moved her hand around him, never touching him, not an inch of encouragement or relief.

She moved down behind his balls, the soft fold of skin there. She traced his hole, still tight, hair wiry, skin ribbed. She nodded as she could feel and see him start to relax. Not enough to get inside safely or comfortably, but enough she could tell he was getting used to the idea.

She caught his eye: “Are you ready?”  
  
She expected an urgent jerk of a nod, but he held her gaze and slowly nodded, giving her the full measure of attention he usually couldn’t. There was something of deep, still water in him right now. It was different; unexpected; good.

She reached to the side of the bed and pulled out the tube of lube. She drizzled a generous amount onto her fingers and let it warm. Keeping her hand away from his body, she leaned down and licked a stripe down his ribs. He reared up at the unexpected contact and let out a gasp-sigh. She smiled and pressed her lips to the swell of his stomach. Working her way down the grid of his abdomen she took small licks, tasting his sweet sweat and feeling his stomach shimmy under her attentions.

Feeling the lube was finally warm in her hands, she braced one hand on his stomach and let the other drift down to touch his hole. He relaxed at the warm wetness, and she began to rub it in, massaging around the tight ring of muscles.

“There you go, that’s good, you’re good,” he moaned and she remembered she could speak.

“Did I mention how good you’ve been? I’ve been beyond impressed. So careful with your hands before. I’m glad we’re doing this together” He made a small sound of happiness. She grinned and let the grin fall away.

“Now I need you to let me in. It will feel so very good.” He tried to relax slowly, but he wasn’t getting it.

“You’re doing so good. Here,” she said as she moved her fingers away from his hole. He felt himself relax that last little bit, and want to tell her to go back now she’d come away, that he was ready. But he couldn’t get the words out and just tried to get the message through to her silently. But she moved her hand up to his cock, and he didn’t want her to touch him there, not yet.

There must have been something in his intake of breath, in his squid m away, but she froze.

“Tom, are you ok?”  
  
He tried to say something, reassure her; he didn’t want them to stop, just to slow down, just her fingers to go back to trying to work inside of him.

“I need a color check, Tom, can you do that for me?  
  
Suddenly, it was easier to talk. “Yellow.”

She sucked in a hiss of breath and raised herself up a bit more, giving him as much space as she could without getting off of the bed.

“What is yellow for you?”

And he could say it, the color gave him space to say it without losing his connection to that glorious pressure of the scene.

“I want you inside me, and to leave my cock alone for a bit longer; I wanted to savor it.”

She let out a small breath and then and then shook herself, smiling. 

“That’s totally reasonable.“

She moved her hand away form his cock and back down behind his balls and he was so loose, she could just tell. She slid two fingers down and pressed one against him in small circles and he just opened up. She could feel him clench g worried thoughts worked their way through his realized mind, moving around her fingers in a way too intimate to describe.

She pressed inside to the first knuckle, then to the second and. He let out a tight, plaintive sigh, like he wanted more but didn’t believe there was more to be had. She pressed in and started to slowly feel along his walls. 

B’Elanna kept moving her fingers, not thrusting exactly, but letting him feel her presence, and then she found it. She let one finger relax more and let the other stiffen and deliberately swiped it down and over a particular nub of nerves. Tom froze and then _writhed._ Giving full voice to the feelings he had, letting himself over into the oblivion he’d been courting for days and weeks.

She left the nub alone and waited until he stilled, before saying through her smirk:

“Feel good?”

He nodded, painting. She smiled again and moved away form that one bunch of nerves, moving her knees down and then slowly lowering her head.

“I’m going to make you come with just these fingers and my mouth, if you’re ok with that.”

He nodded, a bit frantically, and she looked down at his cock laying enticingly on his stomach.

“You’re sure you don’t want more than that?”

He shook his head hard back and forth. “I just need—“ 

“Yeah, I’ve got you,” she said, voice low and intent. 

—

Tom’s eyes stayed open almost stubbornly. He was feeling more than he had in months, an overwhelming closeness he couldn’t shake. Her fingers were right inside of him, touching him, and, _there._ Right there.

This, right now, this was what he truly needed. She moved her fingers inside him, never letting up. He moved his legs even further apart, letting her get easier access. Some part of him regretted the distance, wanted them to get even closer, but he focused on this feeling, this kind of wholeness in being parted.

Her fingers brushed against that nub again and he let the feeling rip through him, not holding himself back and away from it. He rocked up into her down-stroked and thought about what he looked like, thought about he could be anything he needed to be here. He let himself move onto her fingers, his body move, and there it was. A glowing ember inside of him, and one more breath, and another, and a stroke deep inside, and a spark across his nerves and there—a flame.

The orgasm rocked through him, and he heart himself panting from a distance. He felt himself tighten and loosen around her, and the feeling of sensitivity filled him. She seemed to realize and pulled back, hands close on his legs, giving him presence but no pressure.

He took a breath or ten and the haze receded into the carpet of his mind. He let his legs close and refocused his eyes, hitching his face into a half-smile. She smiled back and said:

“I’m going to go clean up. Want me to bring something?”  
  
“Yeah, if you wouldn't mind. A cloth and a glass of water would be great.”

Another smile—had he ever seen her smile this much?—and she was off. He wondered what that meant, how they would work together now, but then he felt a twinge inside and decided to deposit that though for later perusal. For now, he was feeling fucked out and glorious, and had no need to pry.

After some careful cleaning, he lay back. She shared a questioning glance and he shrugged to his side. She took a moment, and then crawled in. He called the lights dim, and there they were, warm and soft. He wondered if she wanted to get off; he wondered if he could stay awake. She didn’t say anything, but reached behind her to wrap his arm around her stomach. Her small fingers were tight on his, pressing them to her stomach.

He sighed and smiled and there she was, smiling with him, as they fell asleep in the dark comfort of each other’s formerly lonely arms.

—

Tom rolled over, looking at the sleeping Klingon-woman’s face. It was so much softer than it was when she was awake. More at ease in her own skin.

He often wondered how it must have hurt to grow up getting cheese-gratered by the expectations of those around you. He was glad, guiltily-glad, that he didn’t have to have that experience.

He rolled onto his side and closed his eyes, letting his hand snake around her body, using himself close to her hips, tucking himself against her. He wished she’d wake up, roll over, fold her arm around his waist, and pulled him close to her. Even if she did it in her sleep, he’d relish it.

He let his head fall to the side slowly. There wasn’t any chance this would be perfect, but she’d smiled at him when he was his most vulnerable. She’d touched him and let him be safe in her arms. She’d been there and seemed to enjoy it. That was where they were.

She rolled over in his arms and cracked a sleepy smile and him, leaning in to kiss his chest.

“Good morning.”  
  
“‘Morning sleepy-head.” he replied.

“I liked last night.” she said, and he lit up inside, rows and rows of running lights.

“I like you,” she said, even quieter. 

“I like you too,” he said, kissing her hair.

“Mmmm,” she hummed, and buried her head in his chest, snaking her arm around his waist and tucking kneeing her leg between his until he was trapped and trapping. They were wrapped up like 2 halves of the same person, one long line of touching skin, and for the first time in a long time, Tom felt whole.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments give me life! Comments please!


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